Man Vs Vending Machine
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Around S2. 'The machine shook and the noise drew in Drew, who said, "Hey, what's that pounding in here? Whatever it is, Topher wants you guys to shut it." Then he stopped and stared at his former boss having a one-on-one battling match with the break room vending machine. "It ain't giving him his Snickers," Kenny said, in calm summary.'


**_Soli Deo Gloria_**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Night Shift. Or Snickers. XD. Or Monopoly.**

 **So I'm in season 2. It's an interesting show, for sure. Lots of . . . drama. But I admire the great camaraderie between all the doctors and nurses. That camaraderie surpasses many usual coworker relationships.**

Ragosa wiped his sweating forehead with a blue scrub sleeve. He leaned against the vending machine in the break room and breathed deep. They were only three hours into their 7-7 shift and he'd gotten bitten by a dude with possible rabies, his fingers bent by an angry, feverish seven-year-old girl, and combed down by some mother who didn't like the fact that her son didn't get treated immediately, even though all he had was a complaint about his incessantly bleeding minor cut.

It was gonna be a long night.

He breathed deep. Topher had sent him here for a ten-minute breather. "You need to get your breath back or you're never gonna recover from all your abuse tonight," he'd said lightly.

Was it worth it, being a doctor, if this was what his foreseeable future would look like? Bringing people back from the brink of death only happened maybe, _maybe_ once a night on his shifts. Maybe if he was TC and made heart monitors start beeping again once every hour he'd feel differently. Right now Ragosa just saw years of ongoing hardwork and thousands of dollars' worth of debt. It wasn't a particularly encouraging thought.

Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe he needed a snack. Who knew, maybe those Snickers commercials were right. He reached into his pocket and frowned. Huh. He coulda sworn there was at least a fiver hidden amongst his notes and handkerchiefs. He got out his wallet and hunted. He finally pulled out a few ones, with a few unpromising folded corners. He shrugged and leaned his fist against the display glass of the vending machine, checking out his options.

Ugh, not the greatest selection. The vending machine guy hadn't come in for like a week, so a lot of the varieties of chips, candy bars, and assorted bad choices were depleted. What was left kinda reminded him of the opposite of a healthy food pyramid. You'd think they'd offer more healthy items, seeing as they were a hospital that liked healing people, not killing them. Still, he'd rather starve than make his way to the cafeteria. Their fare fared more like prison-made delicacies.

Well, there _was_ a Snickers. And he deserved a little something to make up for all the abuse he'd unjustly suffered in the past three hours. He unwrinkled a dollar and stuck it through. The machine ate it, then wrinkled its nose at it and spat it ungratefully out. Ragosa frowned and smoothed the dollar as best he could, using the machine's smooth surface as an ironing board and his fingertips as tiny, inefficient irons.

Still, the vending machine did not want his dollar. It didn't want his money, didn't want his sale. Ragosa scoffed and kicked the bottom of the machine with a satisfying bang. This only resulted in his toes getting banged up instead of the machine; he stifled a curse and folded his lips together as he shook away the initial pain.

"Whoa, Ragosa, what'd that poor vending machine ever do to you?" Kenny had evidently witnessed the past few seconds. He leaned comfortably against the machine and said, "There's no need to abuse the poor thing. It ain't ever done us wrong."

Poor Michael wasn't really in the best mood to explain his actions to an amused Kenny. But still, he had to clear his name. "It won't take my dollar," he said as calmly as he could.

"Okay, so try another dollar. It's not that hard, I swear," Kenny joked.

Ragosa bobbed his head. "Yeah, I guess not." He brought out the little collection he'd pulled from his wallet. He had three more $1 bills. "Let's see how this goes," Ragosa said gamely, sounding far more enthusiastic than he actually felt.

Kenny folded his arms and watched with no small amount of amusement as Ragosa spent careful care smoothing those dollars out and feeding them to the machine. And each time, the vending machine did not let him pass go, did not let him collect $200, and did not let him get a candy bar.

"I've seen a lot of no-hitters, but you just struck out _four_ times," Kenny finally chuckled.

"Yeah, thanks, I hadn't noticed, Kenny," Ragosa snapped. _Wow_ , he really needed that Snickers. He wasn't in any mood to take any of Kenny's sports analogies.

"Hey, here, man." Kenny pulled out his own wallet and gave him a $5 bill. "Try that on for size."

"No thanks, Kenny. I'm fine." Ragosa wasn't used to people helping him out . . . _ever_. He didn't want to feel beholden to someone he used to order unmercifully around.

"Nah, it's cool, man. This is what friends do. You just owe me a solid, that's all," Kenny said lightly, like it was the most casual thing in the world, which, in the end, it was.

Ragosa didn't move an inch for a moment; then he smiled and took it.

"These nights do take a toll on ya, I know that for a fact, Ragosa," Kenny said, as Ragosa fed the machine the bill (it ate it eagerly, as if Kenny's money had a magic taste while Ragosa's money was just gross). "You gotta take a few moments and enjoy something from the machine, or talk to somebody. There's always someone here that's up for a chat. You gotta get perspective after all the blood and guts and pain around here sometimes. And sometimes not even that, but impatient patients, paperwork that's like seventeen pages long—bosses that like to breathe down your neck." Here he grinned and gave Ragosa a friendly shove to the shoulder.

Ragosa cocked his head and nodded. "Yeah, those bosses sure do suck," he said, peering into the vending machine.

"Yeah. But look, even those big bosses can have hearts, right? You just gotta remember that." Kenny leaned away from the side of the machine and peered into it next to Ragosa. "All right, what's your poison, man?"

Ragosa pointed at the Snickers. "E3's my target," he said.

"Sweet. I'mma get something too." Kenny picked the one healthy thing—a nut and dried fruit 'candy' bar.

"That's cheating. How can I eat a Snickers while you're eating healthy snacks like a body builder?" Ragosa asked accusingly.

"Because you need a Snickers and I'm young and handsome and would like to _stay_ that way," Kenny said firmly.

"So you're saying I haven't _stayed_ that way?"

"I mean, man, you're not _young_. Don't you have a teenage daughter?"

"Just—just barely teenage. She's only fourteen."

Kenny scoffed. "Grandpa."

"Not yet, thank God." Ragosa shook his head and said, "Fine. Let's get them." He pressed the button for E3, and . . . nothing happened. He pressed it again, and nothing. A certain wrinkled vein appeared in Ragosa's forehead as he pressed, hard, too many times to count, the E3 button. And, surprise surprise, absolutely nothing happened.

"Man, this vending machine _does not_ like you," Kenny said, chuckling.

"Really? Hadn't noticed," Ragosa said sarcastically. He pounded harder against the machine, only hurting the fingers that'd gotten bent back only an hour ago. He leaned against the machine and gave in to a throttling beat-down against that button. The machine shook and the noise drew in Drew, who said, "Hey, what's that pounding in here? Whatever it is, Topher wants you guys to shut it." Then he stopped and stared at his former boss having a one-on-one battling match with the break room vending machine.

"It ain't giving him his Snickers," Kenny said, in calm summary.

"Oh" was all that Drew could say.

Ragosa changed his tactics—he stopped pounding the button into the ground and chose to instead shake the machine gruffly. He'd give it a good shaking down for a few seconds, then stop and stare. And yet no Snickers would fall.

By now more veins popped from his neck, and he was muttering angrily under his breath. Jordan passed by the open door on her way to the lab, but stopped short to stop and stare. "What—what is this?" she said, waving a hand helplessly at Ragosa.

"A lesson about human psychology," Drew drawled. He stood with his arms folded and a patient yet amused look on his face.

"Oh, Michael," Jordan said, sighing. Her lab results weren't immediate—she had a couple of spare moments to see this play out. It was like a car wreck—you couldn't tear your eyes away. I mean, if it'd been an actual car wreck, Jordan would've leapt into action. This wasn't her moment to step in, though. This was between the vending machine and Ragosa.

"Hey, Jordan, where are those lab results? I need to rule out iron deficiency—what"—TC pointed a finger at the battle—"is going on here?"

"Michael just wants a Snickers," Jordan said simply.

"Not on that vending machine's watch," TC said, half-surprised, half delighted with this new entertainment Ragosa provided.

Eventually a crowd grew. Paul wanted Jordan's opinion about his patient but could stay a couple of minutes to watch someone else being the butt of the ER's jokes; Scott and Krista came in with a debate on their lips and let the words fade as they watched in horror and confusion.

"Okay, I need Jordan over in Trauma One; is TC finished with his fainting patient?" Topher looked up and realized that he and Molly were the only ones at the main desk. "Molly, where is all my staff?"

Sounds of rowdy cheering reminiscent of an audience at a sports match rose from the break room.

"Bet you ten dollars they're all in the break room," Molly said smoothly.

Topher sighed and gathered several files into the crook of his arm. "I swear, it's like herding a kindergarten class sometimes," he scowled, marching down to the break room. "Okay, people, let's get it moving! What's going on here?" He honestly expected some kind of feud between coworkers playing out in a game of fists. Drew had a habit of lashing out in anger against people's jaws. Who was he whaling on now?

No, that wasn't Drew fighting someone. That was Ragosa, and he wasn't even fighting _someone;_ he was fighting _something_.

"Is Ragosa head-butting the vending machine?" Topher said, a little dazed, to TC, pointing at the scene before them.

"Yeah, yeah, he is," TC said, laughing.

"Makes me wish I had some popcorn," Topher said.

"Well, when Ragosa's done, you can have a turn. Get me a bag of chips while you're at it," TC joked.

Ragosa's face, red with anger and embarrassment, was finally withdrawn from the vending machine. He breathed heavily, wiping his arm against his sweating forehead. His ten minute break hadn't given him a break after all.

"You done?" Kenny asked, rubbing his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm done," Ragosa said in a defeated voice.

Kenny nodded and pressed E10 for his healthy snack bar. It dropped without a second of hesitation. A general cry of 'OHHHHH' arose in the crowd. Kenny bowed as he retrieved his bar. "Want one, Ragosa?" he asked.

"No, no, I _don't_ ," Michael said firmly. Someone handed him a water bottle and he drenched himself as he drank great draughts from it.

"Okay." Kenny opened the bar and while chewing a great bite of it, experimented. He casually pressed the E3 button. And lo, a Snickers bar dropped from its hold.

The general cry grew in volume by about ten as Kenny threw the bar at Ragosa, who, while still red, showed a little bit of humility on his face. "All right, I get it, I get it. It's . . . a little funny," Michael said good-naturedly.

Kenny was hailed as a hero, and Topher looked at his watch. "Okay, everyone has to get back on the floor, _now_ ," he ordered. Everyone talked amongst themselves as they poured out of the break room. TC ruffled up Ragosa's hair teasingly as he walked away, laughing and putting an arm around Jordan, who was smiling quietly. Drew stifled a laugh as he walked out with Krista, who laughed, and Scott, who was pretending he was _not_ laughing.

Kenny hung an arm around Ragosa as they walked out. "Feel better, man?" he said.

Ragosa sighed around his bite of Snickers but nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I do," he said. He didn't know if it was his release of anger, or the friendship and kindness and teasing of his coworkers, or the Snickers working its magic, but he _did_ feel better. He felt good enough to face the rest of his twelve-hour shift. It couldn't be as bad as what had just happened, right? And he'd survived _that_.

 **XD. Thanks for reading! Review?**


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